Post Traumatic Stress Relief
by ConsultingDetective221B
Summary: John Watson has moved back into 221B Baker St after the death of his wife and is suffering from horrible nightmares. Sherlock does his best to soothe his friend's suffering and their relationship blossoms into more than the friendship they've shared throughout the years.
1. Night 1

"SHERLOCK!" John shouted as he bolted upright from his sleep. He leaned forward and placed his head in his hands as his flat mate came running up the stairs to his room.

"John! What's wrong?!"

The army doctor heaved a deep sigh. "Sorry. I'm so sorry. Bad dream. That's all."

The consulting detective sighed in relief and sat on the edge of his friend's bed. "Oh, thank god. I mean- I'm sorry, but I thought you were in danger."

"No. No, I'm alright. Sort of. Just a nightmare."

"I'm just glad you're safe." Sherlock patted John's shoulder. "My god, John, you're soaked through!"

"Yeah, night sweats. Happens occasionally. Grab me a fresh shirt, would you?"

Sherlock nodded once and stood up, going over to the dresser to grab John a clean T-shirt. He tossed it over and his flat mate changed, throwing the old shirt into the hamper in the far corner of the room. He stood there awkwardly for a moment before breaking the silence.

"Do you mind if I compose for a bit?" Sherlock asked suddenly.

"No." John coughed. "No, not at all. It might… help. Feel free."

"Right. Yes, my thoughts exactly. I'll erm… I'll just be going." The detective paused for a moment before descending the stairs to the main flat where he took up his violin and played a soft, upbeat melody which lulled the doctor to sleep.


	2. Night 2

John bolted upright in his bed. "SHERLOCK!" He rested his head in his hands and groaned as his flat mate ran up the stairs and into his room.

"What is it?" asked the detective in a panic.

"Nothing," sighed the doctor. "It's nothing. Another nightmare. That's all."

Sherlock relaxed. "Oh. Need anything? You know, just since I'm already here."

"Clean shirt?"

"On it." The detective grabbed a clean T-shirt from the dresser and tossed it to his flat mate. He came to sit on the edge of the bed as the man before him changed.

"Why are you being so… I dunno. What _are_ you doing?" John asked, confused by his friend's actions.

Sherlock stammered for a moment. "I- I was worried about you."

"Yeah, but you know I'm alright now. Yet you're still here."

"I don't know. You had a bad dream and you seemed very upset by it. I suppose I wanted to make sure you were okay-... emotionally."

John stared at him for a moment. "Sherlock, the carer. This is new."

"Yeah… Just getting used to it myself." They sat in silence. "Uhm. _Are_ you okay?"

The doctor sighed again and rubbed his brow. "Honestly, not really. I lost my wife not long ago and now I'm suffering while my brain tries to process that information. But… I'm getting there. And you being here, odd as it may be, is actually helping immensely."

"Oh. Well I'm glad I could be of help." A long silence fell.

John cleared his throat. "Well. This is getting awkward."

"Yes, sorry. I guess I should be getting back to bed." Sherlock stood and made for the door. "Goodnight, John."

"Goodnight, Sherlock." They each managed a rather confused expression as the detective went down the stairs and to his own room where he remained awake the rest of the night, contemplating the situation with his friend.


	3. Night 3

"SHERLOCK!" John bolted upright with his shout and a shrill noise emanated from the corner of his room. "Damn," he muttered. Rosie was back from her weekend with Molly and was awakened by John's scream. He sighed and got out of bed, going over to pick his daughter up from her crib.

"There, there," he whispered to her. "Daddy had a bad dream, that's all." He rubbed the back of the crying child as Sherlock came running up the stairs. The detective relaxed instantly upon seeing his friend safe and holding the baby.

"Nightmares again?"

John nodded. "Nightmares. Could you take her for a minute? I need to change shirts."

"Of course." Sherlock reached out for the child and held her close as her father passed her along. He rubbed her back and kissed her head, humming to her softly, and she finally stopped crying.

John smiled as he pulled on his clean shirt. "You really have a way with her, Sherlock. I don't understand it."

"Oh, really, John. The internet can work wonders. You should try it sometime."

The army doctor chuckled as he took back his daughter. "Well, the fact that you took the time to Google 'how to calm a crying baby' still means a lot." Rosie whined and reached out to Sherlock, who obligingly offered a finger for her to hold onto. "Plus, she obviously likes you awfully much."

"Well, YOU hang around me enough. It must run in the family." The two men laughed and Rosie yawned.

"Looks like someone is ready to go back to bed." The child let go of Sherlock and nuzzled slightly at her father's shoulder. John kissed her head and gave her a gentle squeeze before laying her back down in her crib and tucking her in. He went over to his bed and sat down.

"I'll let you get back to sleep, too," Sherlock said quietly. "Would you mind if I played the violin for a bit?"

"Not at all. Rosie seems to like it and, honestly, I think it actually helped me the other night as well."

Sherlock nodded and went downstairs. It wasn't long before a soft, familiar melody floated up the stairs. John shifted uncomfortably. It was the waltz Sherlock had written for his wedding. He shifted again and huffed. A moment passed and then he couldn't take it any longer. He stood quickly and hurried downstairs.

"Please. Sherlock. Not that."

"Why?"

"Because that night you made a promise. Your 'vow'. The vow you couldn't keep. And, to be quite honest, I think that the more I'm reminded of what happened when that vow was broken , or that at any particular time your safety could become compromised, the more likely I am to literally burst. I can't stand it, Sherlock. Can't. Stand it." They stood in silence, eyes locked.

"So, that's what your nightmares have been about, then. You're not calling for me in general fear, you're calling for me in the fear that you've lost me. You've been dreaming about my death." The detective set his violin on the table.

"Yes. Over the past couple of nights, I have seen you fatally shot, poisoned, and tonight I watched you jump off the roof of Bart's again. It has been absolute torture. The thought of losing you as well as her is completely unbearable." Tears fell helplessly from the army doctor's eyes despite his best effort towards a stone cold expression. He smiled weakly as he tried to fight back the pain. "I can't keep doing this, Sherlock. I can't keep feeling such hurt all the time, but I don't know what to do about it."

Sherlock stepped forward and wrapped his arms firmly around his best friend. The sign of comfort set John's emotions free and he cried nearly as hard as he was capable. He clung to his friend's shirt as he struggled to find air between the great sobs.

"I'm here, John," Sherlock whispered. "I'm here and we're both safe and I am never leaving you again." They stood together in embrace while John slowly regained control. As he calmed down, he took a deep breath and sighed. The two men parted.

"John," Sherlock began. "Do you think it would help you to have reassurance of my presence while you slept?"

The doctor thought for a moment. "I don't know. Possibly. How d'you mean?"

"If I would… perhaps… sleep in your bed… with you."

John stared. "It's a bit odd, isn't it?"

"Not if it helps. Besides, no one would ever know. Mrs. Hudson doesn't enter our rooms when we're sleeping and at least one of us would have to get up to answer the door for clients."

"What about your brother? He likes to invite himself in from time to time."

The detective shrugged and waved his hand dismissively. "We just explain the situation. He'd be too embarrassed to tell anyone else either way. He might tease a bit at first, but that's nothing we're not used to. So what do you say? It's entirely up to you, no matter what. You choose."


	4. Night 4

John tossed in his sleep. Small murmurs escaped his lips. Terror flashed through his mind as the nightmare ran rampant. He shifted again, but nothing changed. He was being held back- forced to watch as his friend stepped up to the guillotine. Just then, he felt a firm weight across his chest and smelled something that reminded him of home. The nightmare faded away as he realized it was Sherlock's arm laying over him. He slowly awakened and opened his eyes to see the detective staring at him.

"What? Are you watching me sleep now?" he asked tiredly.

"No, I felt you moving, woke up, and deduced that you were having another nightmare. I put my arm around you to remind you I'm here and everything is okay."

"So you're _cuddling_ me?"

"Now, John, when you agreed to this, you knew that 'cuddling', as you called it, was an inevitable result."

"Yes. Sorry, yes. You're trying to help me. I'm just not used to it, is all. I suppose I'm so used to fighting off the gay rumors that I automatically deflect anything that could possibly be misconstrued."

"You do seem to be abnormally adverse when it comes to accusations of homosexuality. Your sister is gay and your only opposition to her is her alcoholic tendencies, so it's not in defense of your moral code. Furthermore, the number of women you've sexually pursued and your relationship with Mary, along with the fact that you have a naturally produced child, strongly confirm your heterosexuality. So why is it you get so het up about people questioning your sexuality?"

"Sherlock, it's-..." John glanced at the clock. "Jesus Christ, it's nearly four in the morning. Do you _really_ have to be doing this now?"

"Hmm. Clear signs of deflection. How telling…"

"Telling of _what_?"

"I've been cultivating a theory, but there's only one simple yet effective way of putting it to the test."

The army doctor sighed. "Fine, I'll humor you. What's this test of yours?"

"This." Before John could react, Sherlock leaned over and firmly pressed their lips together, slowly parting and closing them with a smooth rhythm. The doctor resisted at first, but quickly succumbed to the motion and allowed his own lips to follow the pattern freely. A few moments passed before the detective pulled their lips apart and leaned back.

John's face turned about as red as his best pants. "What. In the BLOODY HELL was that?!"

"Just proving a point."

"What point? I am NOT gay!"

"Now, we both know what you really mean, so just say it."

"If we both know it, why do I have to say anything?"

"Because you'll feel better when you do and your secret is safe with me."

John sighed. "Alright, you win. I'm not gay. … I'm strongly bisexual."

"Ooh, strongly? That's not a word I expected you to use."

The doctor paused in thought. "Sherlock , did you do that to me strictly as an experiment, or at least in part because you wanted to? Over the years, I may have been 'abnormally adverse' to the idea of homosexuality, but you… you've been completely unopinionated on the topic. So, let's have it, then. How do _you_ identify?"

"Initially, I considered myself 'strongly' asexual. However, I have admitted to you that I, in moments of weakness, have been known to text The Woman back and flirt with her."

"Yeah, we all know you have a thing for Irene Adler, but that's not what I'm asking you, now, is it? Do you like men, yes or no?"

"Yes," Sherlock stated quickly.

"Any I know?"

"I should think so, you sprained one's arm a while back."

"Wiggins? You went out with Bill Wiggins?"

"Yes. He… took care of me- to the best of his ability- while you were off with Mary, and then again when she was gone. He did his best to make sure I kept from going 'too hot' because he cared. It was never anything too serious, but there was a relationship there, nonetheless."


	5. Night 15

"You're sure about this?" Sherlock asked cautiously.

"No. But Rosie is with Molly and we've spent the last week and a half getting used to each other on this new level, so why not? If things don't work out, we can stop and we'll only go as far as we're comfortable." John finished stripping to his underpants and sat on the bed beside his similarly clad flat mate.

The detective nodded and took a deep breath. "Let's give it a go, then."

They pressed their lips together and breathed each other in. Their mouths moved in perfect harmony. Hands traced over bare skin and up into hair. Soft moans eventually erupted from between the two men. John reached down and cupped his hand around the detective's privates, pressing and rubbing them through their thin cloth barrier. Sherlock groaned lightly and returned the favor. Being struck by the same idea simultaneously, they gently pulled each other out of their pants. They hardened quickly at the touch of their most sensitive skin in each other's hands. More moans escaped their lips as their lengths were stroked firmly and rhythmically. Sherlock kissed back John's jaw, down his neck, and along his shoulder.

"Do you want me to?" the detective asked seductively.

John's reply was half dazed. "Do I want you to what?"

Sherlock traced a small circle on his mate's skin with the tip of his tongue. "I've been told I'm rather good."

The doctor nodded slowly and the detective kissed lower and lower and lower and finally along the doctor's length. Sherlock took the tip of John's cock in his mouth and whirled his tongue across it as he began to suck gently. Then, he let his lips glide the whole way down until they found the intersection of skin. The doctor's moans resonated through the room and Sherlock began moving his head up and down, sucking and licking, pleasuring John in every way his mouth knew how. They went on like this for what felt like such sweet hours and John knotted his fingers in Sherlock's hair. Sherlock looked up at him, daring him to find his release. That look was about all the doctor could stand. With one more long and deep stroke of Sherlock's lips, John let loose, hard and hot, down his friend's throat, groaning loudly in pure ecstasy. When he'd finished, the detective sat up and swallowed.

"Whoever your informant is was wrong," John said, slightly out of breath.

"Oh? What do you mean?"

"You're not 'rather good'; you're exceptionally good." The two men laughed and laid back in bed together, then sighed.

"Just sleep in pants?" Sherlock questioned hopefully.

"Just sleep in pants," John confirmed. With that, they settled in for the night and went to sleep.


	6. Night 47

A sharp cry pierced through the night. John groaned and rolled over.

"Isn't it your turn, Sherlock?"

"No, I got her last time."

The army doctor pulled back the covers and got up. The cries continued as he made his way to the crib and picked up his daughter.

"It's okay, Rosie. Daddy's got you now." The child continued screaming.

Sherlock stood up and stretched. "C'mon. She's probably hungry. Let's go downstairs. I'll fix her bottle."

"Thank you," John murmured sleepily as he went down to the main flat, his daughter still crying in his arms. He sat in his armchair and rubbed Rosie's back. Sherlock fixed the bottle as quickly as possible and brought it in. He gave it to John, who then fed the child as she quieted down.

"Sherlock, I've been thinking," the doctor began. "I'm really glad we opened up to each other about how we feel.

"Oh? What makes you say so now?"

"Apart from the occasional interruption from the little one here, I have slept absolutely wonderfully these past few weeks. In fact, I don't think I've had a single nightmare since you've started regularly sleeping in my bed."

"That's good," yawned the detective. "I'm glad to be of help."

"And there is one other little perk I'd like to mention."

"What's that?"

"It is _so_ nice to not have to think of my gran every time you do something sexy when we're by ourselves."

The two men smiled and laughed together. It wasn't long before Rosie pushed away her bottle and yawned.

"Looks like somebody is ready to go back to bed," said John as he put the baby girl up to his shoulder to burp her. Once she did, the doctor stood and carried his daughter back up to her crib with Sherlock tailing close behind. With Rosie laid down and tucked in, the men crawled back in bed and cuddled up close.

John yawned. "I honestly hope this never changes, Sherlock. I love you."

The detective smiled and planted a kiss on his partner's cheek. "My hopes are the same. I love you, too."

The men settled against each other and silently drifted to sleep. John slept peacefully this night and every night to follow in the firm arms of the man he loved most in all the world, and nothing could ever force things to be any different.


End file.
